Saturday, 26 September 2009

It's been two very, very long weeks. I'm not quite sure whether its been good long or bad long, its just been long. I love what I'm studying, and am now going to paste in some of my homework. Sometimes i love what I've written, and it only gets shared with my tutor, and sometimes my class mates, which admittedly is very embarrassing.

Interior Monologue

I could not visualise a way away from such deep feeling. Like an all consuming love affair, there seemed to be no end, except somewhere in my mind I was aware the exist was only some meters away. Similar to an all consuming love, I did not want to accept such easy ending was just too possible, this feeling needed to live on eternally. ’Though, again I knew, the exhibition ended in September, and would move away for good. This was my summer romance.
How blissful it feels, to lay here, on sumptuously soft carpet, which sags under my relaxed weight, surrounded with souls who are feeling the same intense serenity as I am. I have never dreamt of such an experience, never mused over the depth of feeling art could induce. As a lover of art, I have been an avid visitor to galleries, ever since being a little girl. But this, this is something entirely different, a tangible sense of connection with such wondrous images never felt before. And to stumble across this where I did is a surprise in itself.
I repeated the artists name again and again in my head, Pipilotti Rist, until it too seeped in, overwhelming just like this room and its effects. I have fallen in love with these images, this strange eclectic soundtrack; a combination of human sound and melody. Such smooth overlaps and fades of videos, of moving figures, of harshly contrasted sun and nature, swaying, sweeping, singing in motion. Nothing else existed, all but my thoughts, this soft layered carpet that graduates at the edges, and the little projector snugly fitted within the middle of it, delivering this dizzy calm, these intriguing images, filling this cosy room with a tangible atmosphere.
I sighed, arched my back in comfort then dislodged my hand from the manic curls atop my head. Unlike usual, the normal instinctual movements of the human body needed to be thought. It would have seemed abnormal to urge myself to flex a foot, instead of just doing it, if I didn’t care about anything other than this bliss. It was just like what I assume being high feels like, though a serene, calm and smooth high.
My friends had not accompanied me on this jaunt to the rooms filled with glorious wonder, those who found this treasure with me, I fear, did not find its depth and wonder as gripping as I. And so, I return in solitary company, slipping further and further into my own thoughts, taking the reconnected mind and body along together for this journey.
My peripheral vision detected reluctant movement, and a soft voice penetrated the air, calling softly, though speaking words I dreaded to hear. “Sorry, miss, the exhibition closes now.” I inwardly swore, and cautiously moved my legs sideways and off the elevated carpet. My vision became corrupted with white fuzziness. Knees wobbly, feet faltering, I lent against the wall dejected from life, slipped my feet into shoes and let me legs carry me away from that building. Outside the grey and glass, I felt isolated from the world, my mind separate from all other workings of humanity, thoughts too profound, yet too incoherent.
And so this day ends, farewell till another, I think to that softly dark room and all its wonders. Until I find myself on the brink of needing the fix- I will return. It was my addiction, my summer romance, a substitute to another addiction, a substitute that cannot last, that will end while it is still good.

Word count; 596

I am inundated with work, and yet we have not received any coursework yet. The mornings prove to be cold and difficult, something a cup of tea cannot cure. When my head lightens and floats away from logic with the early morning cigarette, i feel even more apart from those commuting, moving, learning and laughing in the building that i am.

My mind cannot even stretch to create a look to which calls softly that i am not just another English student who thinks she has style. Elle will just appear casual and lost, behind that convincing fake smile and easy laugh.

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